Measure Twice
by The Brown-ie
Summary: Alfred Pennyworth's patience is put to the test as he tries to teach Bruce and Lois how to bake cookies without casualties. The Waynes and Clark are (reluctant) guinea pigs/judges as these two pit their lack-of cooking skills against one another. Who will win? Who will die?


"I don't see why I have to do this," Lois groused. With a nervous smile, Clark offered his wife a cupcake, which she quickly snapped up. "Luring me all the out here to Bristol under the guise of a red velvet run!" Several more angry bites, the pastry was gone and another was held up beneath her nose.

"Because, you really should know how to cook," Clark replied over his spouse's pacified munching. "And I love you. So, please, do this for me."

"Fine. I do... care about you... somewhat," his wife reluctantly admitted before shoveling the final bite into her pouting mouth. She mournfully shook the empty box in search of crumbs. When there were none, she tossed the box into the backseat with an irritable huff. "But you owe me. And I mean, 'Birthday-Things-in-the-Boudoir' owe me, Smallville. And I want a new treadmill in our den since you're clearly trying to fatten me up."

"All the more to love," he said simply.

"Honestly, Alfred," Bruce said gruffly as they showed their guests to the kitchen. "My cooking isn't that bad."

"Shall we ask the peanut gallery, sir?"

Bruce's kids (even Jason) were gathered around the kitchen island, enjoying Alfred's freshly baked sugar cookies. They smiled and greeted everyone as the came it.

"Everyone," Alfred interrupted their happy bantering. "Master Bruce and Ms. Lane-Kent will be making dessert for us tonight."

This author apologizes for the lack of a more eloquent phrasing, but when Alfred said that shit everyone just straight up fucking bolted: Jason immediately drew his gun and trained it on them (___Seriously_, though Clark to himself.) as he edged past them and out of the door. Dick grabbed Damian like a sack of potatoes and leapt from the bay window over the sink and into the yard. Cassandra lifted Stephanie into a fireman carry and rushed out the servants' entrance to the dining room. Tim panicked and fled into the pantry, where he ran in tight circles Jason pried open the window from outside and helped him climb out.

"Oh my God," Clark fearfully muttered to himself.

"Wow," said Lois at the sounds of car doors opening and tires squealing in the gravel.

Bruce scowled.

"Alfred," he said darkly. "Text those fools and tell them they had better be back in time for dinner or no inheritance."

"Certainly, sir."

"You have to mix your wet and dry ingredients separately when baking. This will allow for well, even mixing before you combine everything together. But first, let's gather the ingredients." With that, the old butler gave them each a list and pointed them in the direction of the pantry.

"Is this flour?" Bruce asked Lois as he held up a brightly colored bag.

"No," she started slowly. "Given the animal skull and crossbones, I would guess that's rat poison. Hey, is this vanilla?"

"No, that's fish sauce," he replied. "And that's soy sauce you've got now... And now, you're holding Worchester."

Clark felt a violent shiver race up his spine as he listened to the two of the argue whether or not to use mustard to make yellow cake. The poor man would never forgive himself if he allowed his wife to poison everyone a third time. He cast a pleading look at Alfred, who simply looked away and busied himself with a pocket watch.

Once they had everything all together, and once Alfred had made some minor corrections to the supplies (since Bruce thought quinoa was brown sugar and Lois honestly believed mayonnaise could substitute frosting), he showed them how to preheat the oven and explained the various instruments lining the counter.  
"Please wash your hands first," he instructed. "Especially you, Master Bruce. Since you saw fit to play with your new chemistry kit this morning."

After several disastrous attempts to beat an egg with a whisk, Alfred realized that Bruce had measured out several cups of salt instead of flour.

"I don't understand how you're basically a freakin' forensic scientist that can't measure and mix simple ingredients?" Lois jeered as Bruce struggled to pour back in its container.

"Like how you're an ace reporter and best-selling novelist but you can't read and follow simple directions?" he snapped. Alfred broke up their bickering with several well-executed raps on the counter with a wooden spoon.

"You both are highly educated, highly intelligent people," he chided. "Who manage to set fires when pouring milk into bowls of cereal. Neither one of you has the right to judge the other when you can't tell a chicken's egg from your own left foot!" With that, he snatched their bowls away and emptied them in the trash. "Now, go. Rinse these out and let's try again!"

Clark knew it was a fool's errand but he, by some miracle, managed to corral Bruce's brood in the kitchen.

"Please, God, No!" Stephanie begged as she struggled against his pushing. "At least let Cassie go. She's had it the hardest!"

"It's ok," Cassandra murmured. "We'll go together."

As the children reluctantly circled the island, they stared with trepidation at the two platters of freshly baked cookies. And although they looked quite appealing, they knew in the hearts that their cooks were walking culinary disasters.

Cassandra shuddered a trembling breath as she steeled herself and reach for a cookie.

"No, I'll do it," Dick said suddenly, taking hold of her shaking hand. "I'm the oldest. I should go first. It's my duty to protect you all."

"Where was this sense of honor when I died the first time, you asshat?!" Jason hissed.

"Off world with the Titans," his older brother explained somberly. "I would have been there to take that beating for you, if I was here. Let this be my penance for failing a little brother."

"How on Earth did you manage to make this about you, Jay?" Tim shrieked. "We all have had it rough!"

"Ttch!" Damian spat. "Let Drake eat a cookie too. He's the only one of us that hasn't died temporarily."

"Ohmigosh, Daddybats, me, Jaybird, Cassie, Supes and Little D*," Stephanie counted off. "Yeah, jerks! It's your turn to die!"

The two brothers crossed their rapidly beating hearts before taking hold of a cookie each. Without further pretense, they shoved them into their mouths, moaning and groan between pained-looking bites.

They swallowed. Their eyes flew open wide. The room held its collective breathe as their awaited the verdict.

"These… are really good!" Dick rejoiced. He and Tim quickly shoveled several more into their smiling mouths. The others followed suite, grabbing the trays up all together and fleeing to the den.

As the kitchen door swung shut, Lois turned to her compatriots and asked, "Should we tell them, Alfie?"

The old man sniffed as he surreptitiously shoved a Tollhouse cookie dough wrapper into the pocket of his apron.

"Perhaps but not today, Ms. Lane," he said smoothly. "I do have a reputation to uphold."

******The End (Seriously).**


End file.
